Tears
by cosmo17
Summary: Richie will never be the same after IT. Rated T for some language and depressing themes.


**Tears**

**Hello Fanfiction! Wow. It has been years since I've written anything, or at least posted it. I was driven to write again after seeing IT Chapter 2, as a huge Stephen King fan. I loved this work! The book, miniseries, and now these two amazing movies inspired me to get down to business and write again. Thank you Stephen King and Andy Muschietti for bringing IT to life! WARNING: Heavy spoilers below. Do not read if you haven't seen Chapter 2 yet. If you have, enjoy!**

Richie Tozier did not enjoy crying. In fact, it was one of his least favorite things to do. He hated the tight feeling in his chest, the way his eyes stung with tears, the way they rolled down his cheeks to the corners of his mouth. Tears were salty and disgusting. Richie could count the amount of times he had cried on one hand, before June of 2016. The first memorable cry had been when he was eleven, in the fifth grade. He had mouthed off to the school bully, Henry Bowers. Bowers had chased him across the school grounds, cornering him against the fence. He had pinned Richie down and ground his face into the snow until it bled. Of course he had cried, who wouldn't?

The second time was during that Summer of 89 at thirteen years old, when he'd first set foot in that awful house on Neibolt Street. Finding a real missing poster with his face and description had caused him to panic, which he didn't usually do. He'd started to cry, until Bill had calmed him down.

The Summer of 89 had broken Richie's 'no cry' record several times. He may not have cried when Bower's cousin called him out as a fairy at the Aladdin, but tears had been threatening as he ran to the park to escape the humiliation Henry had put him through. Surprisingly, nearly being killed by an enormous, living statue of Paul Bunyan hadn't made Richie cry either. He'd nearly shit his pants in fear, but he hadn't cried. No, the tears had come later when Richie was laying in bed, alone with his thoughts.

Richie never cried in front of his friends, not once. Richie 'Trashmouth' Tozier was a solid, invulnerable rock to them. No matter how bad or terrifying things got, Richie was always the one to wear a shit-eating grin and crack a crude joke. The other Losers had never seen Richie shed a single tear.

After that day in the sewers, if Richie had known all seven Losers would never be complete again, he might have cried. But he didn't know. Life went on. He'd stayed friends with them of course, but eventually they drifted apart. Once Richie moved out of Derry at the age of eighteen, something happened. It was like he had never had friends. It was like he was never a kid.

Richie had been content with not remembering. He always figured it was a bit strange, not having a single memory of his life before. He knew he had been a kid once, he knew he had grown up in Maine. He figured he must have had friends, but it didn't seem all that important. The best part was, he had no reason to cry.

For twenty seven years, Richie Tozier didn't shed a single tear. He hadn't even cried the time he had gotten an inch long splinter under his big toenail. He had thrown up, but he hadn't cried.

Now, Richie couldn't stop crying.

Teardrops fell from his cheeks onto the old photo reel Mike had given him before he left Derry. He brushed his hand over the laminated photo, wiping away the tears. It was three in the morning, but Richie couldn't sleep. He sat in his glamorous apartment alone, staring at the photos and crying. Occasionally he reached for his glass, swigging Jim Beam before returning his gaze to them.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he mumbled under his breath, taking another gulp of whiskey.

The day that Eddie Kaspbrak died, Richie had cried for the first time in twenty seven years. At the age of forty, in front of his childhood friends. They had gathered around him, holding him, knowing. His secret had finally been revealed, and he didn't have to say a word.

Everything inside him hurt. It was worse than any physical pain he had ever endured. His insides burned with anger, sadness, regret. The crushing melancholy kept him anchored to the chair, a river of tears running down his face. His glasses had been tossed onto the desk, his hair was a wild mess, his eyes were red and puffy. The worst part was how alone he felt.

"I loved you. I still fucking do," he slurred.

The whiskey certainly wasn't helping this time. He figured if he drank himself stupid, there would be no more reason to cry. He could forget, like before.

As Richie slumped onto his desk, still staring sideways at the photos and sniffling, an obscure thought ran through his head. When had he truly realized that he was in love with Eddie Kaspbrak?

They had been best friends their entire childhood. Richie and Eddie, Eddie and Richie. The dynamic duo. Richie was loud and crude. Eddie was quiet and respectful. Richie loved to tease Eddie. Eddie said he hated it. Through his tears, Richie let out a laugh as he remembered how annoyed and flustered Eddie had gotten when he called him cute. He'd always said it like a joke, masking the true feelings he felt toward his best friend. He'd made up pet names for Eddie, to bother him. His favorite was Eds, since it really annoyed the hell out of him. His other go to was Eddie Spaghetti. There were plenty of others, like Cutie Pie or Edwardo. He had been making up names for Eddie since they were in grade school.

When had Richie fallen in love, though? Richie had had girlfriends, plenty of them. He had never felt the kind of feelings for them that he felt for _him_ though. He supposed those feelings had been building for years. It really only became apparent to him in 89 though, when they were thirteen. The same year 'It' happened.

Richie remembered that summer clearly now, all of the memories flooding back after they had finally finished It. Pulling Eddie into the photo booth, the rest of the Losers behind them. Cracking jokes about Eddie's Mom, watching his face scrunch up with annoyance or embarrassment. Watching him riding his bike, or patching up Ben Hanscom in the alley behind Center Street Drug. That day in the Clubhouse, when Eddie had been particularly hyper, climbing into the tiny hammock with him. It was the closest they had ever physically been. Richie had struggled so hard not to reveal how much he had loved that moment, since the rest of his friends were all there, watching. He didn't even care that Eddie had stuck his feet in his face. He pretended like he did, shoving them away, but he really didn't mind. Richie had replayed that moment over and over again in his head for a long time.

"I'm so sorry," Richie whispered to the photo, his eyes locked onto the smiling face of his best friend and secret love.

Richie had re-carved the initials into the guardrail of the Kissing Bridge just before he left Derry. He wondered if Eddie had ever seen that carving. If he had, would he have figured it out? Their final moments together had been painful, but Richie replayed them in his head every day.

"Hey Richie… I fucked your Mom."

Richie couldn't help but laugh at the final words his best friend had given him. It was almost like he was about to say more, something more serious.

"Richie, I…"

Richie had gone to join the fight, to kill that awful thing before it hurt anyone else. When Richie had run back to him, Eddie was already dead. He'd refused to believe it at first. He was desperate to bring him back, to pull him out of there. He knew Eddie would be okay, _needed_ him to be okay. But he was dead. It had killed him, torn him away from Richie, whom Eddie had saved from the Deadlights only a moment before. Eddie, Richie's best friend. Eddie, the one person Richie had ever truly loved. Eddie, who would never know how much Richie cared for him.

Richie fell into a drunken slumber as these thoughts swirled around his head. If only he could forget again.

End.

**I hope this is alright. Wanted to share this quick piece I did, see if I can still put **

**together a story! Ever since reading King's novel, I have always thought the Reddie pairing should be a reality. Now it actually is! The whole thing is so sad, how Richie never got to express his true feelings, and his deepest fears and secrets were never resolved. But that's life, the dark and bitter truth of many things. This is meant to be a oneshot, but I've suddenly got the urge to write again. So if anybody has requests on a follow up, let me know! I may or may not post more as I'm a bit obsessed over this story right now. Thank you!**


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